


to be everything at once

by greekdemigod



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Pattata - Freeform, Zapatterson, post 2x22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekdemigod/pseuds/greekdemigod
Summary: Tasha can’t shake the image of Patterson crying.





	to be everything at once

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my twitter pals Bruna and Katie. Without their fangirling over Patterson and Zapata, I don't think I ever would have given Blindspot a try (and now I love it).

Tasha can’t shake the image of Patterson crying—nothing about the tears glittering on her lashes like tiny gems had been beautiful.

They might be laughing, layering Reade’s cheap beers on top of Weller’s decidedly more expensive scotch to a staggering level of inebriation, the kind that makes the whole world spin and furl while the edges go soft and fuzzy, but every time Tasha looks at her there’s a tug at her heart, like it remembers the way it broke earlier.

She does not doubt that when Patterson said she’s tired, she meant it.

It keeps popping into her mind—when Reade and Patterson start volleying _terrible_ jokes back and forth, when they drag her into an arm wrestling match for the last beer, when they make a run for more, arm-in-arm all three of them, a shambling group of New York’s finest.

The night is just as cold when an hour later she laces her fingers through Patterson’s and walks her to the edge of the sidewalk, where they wait for their Uber to arrive. It has been a long night. So long. And she is tired, but thinking that just brings it back again.

“You should take a break.” Laughter and smiles so long, it feels liberating to show how she really feels, the concern and care that has been simmering all night. Tasha moves her thumb against Patterson’s knuckle and tugs her closer. “ _We_ should take one. We just saved the country.”

The smile stays on Patterson’s face a little longer. Those damned blue eyes dim first, then the corners of her mouth tip down. She sucks in a deep, noisy breath, but she doesn’t let go, doesn’t step away. “We?”

“Yeah. You’re stuck with me, since I’m not going to leave you alone.”

A car pulls up in front of her and Tasha figures that’s it for this conversation, Patterson is going to use this as an excuse not to answer and redirect the conversation to something else as soon as they’re seated, but she doesn’t. Instead she rests her head against Tasha’s shoulder and whispers, “I would like that.”

Patterson is a gentle, warm weight against her side; her hair is soft where it presses against her jaw and Tasha can’t help but be wrapped in the smell of it. She moves her arm around the back of her, leans it on her shoulder, and crooks it so she can run her fingers slowly through those blonde locks, smoothing them back from her face.

“You and your brilliant mind,” Tasha murmurs, cheek sliding down against Patterson’s forehead. Their breathing has synched together, a slow and steady rhythm. The alcohol is dragging her deeper into sleepiness, but this proximity is making her feel exhilaratedly alive. “You never stop impressing me.”

“Stop. My brain is too drunk for this.”

They burst into laughter and settle more easily together. Patterson was tense before, Tasha realizes, but that’s gone now. For the rest of the ride they sit close, jostling together with the movements of the car, and when they reach Patterson’s apartment ten minutes later it is entirely too soon for Tasha’s tastes.

The feelings she has for Patterson have been clear to her for a long time now.

She has always cared too much, too deeply; a side-effect of her childhood and being starved of people to love and be loved by, it has only made her care more. Her heart is big and soft in a world that is harsh and sharp, and it has always beaten strongly for the people on her team.

But the way she cares for Patterson is rooted deeper, so strong and unwavering, she would give her last breath or die on a hill for her happiness.

Given all that, given how pure it is, how little she cares for herself compared to all of herself she would sacrifice for Patterson, there is not a part of her that would dream of taking advantage of her friend in this vulnerable state.

She just wants to take care of her—which is why she kneels in front of Patterson after putting her on the bed, to take off her shoes, and which is why she lifts the sheets over her to swaddle her in them, and which is why she almost says _no_ when she is asked to stay.

But then Patterson reaches for her hand and holds it so gently, stares up at her with blue eyes brimming with pain and fear that is even harder to bear than the tears were, and it’s not taking advantage of her at all.

Patterson _needs_ her. Or someone—anyone. But Tasha is the one that's here, and so she kicks her own shoes off without a thought to spare and gets beneath the sheets with her. The bed dips with their weight as they curl towards each other.

Tentatively she reaches an arm out, meaning to tuck her in better, but Patterson uses it to slide against her, burrow into her, and— _oh_. Tasha settles her arms around her then, to keep the woman in her arms as close as she can, and makes a silent promise to the universe that if she can help it, she’s not going to let bad things happen to Patterson again.

She is as serious as when she made her oath upon joining the FBI.

The room is dark around them with the lamp on the night stand out, but Tasha can feel and hear it when Patterson tips her head up. They’re looking at each other, she can tell. The space between them is warm with their breaths and smells like beer.

“Could we go somewhere? On our break?”

“Sure. Anywhere.”

“Okay.” A beat of silence. “Thank you.”

Tasha is holding her breath now, her skin alight where it touches Patterson’s, her heart beating erratically—but no more words are spoken, and Patterson settles back against her.

It isn’t until she hears her deep, even breaths that Tasha can breathe again herself. And it takes her a long time after that to fall asleep.

* * *

“ _Oof_ , this is the Goliath of hangovers.”

Tasha blinks blearily into sunlight and Patterson’s soft smile. She doesn’t know what time it is, just that it’s too early and they deserve to sleep longer. Fresh off saving the United States, surely, they can skip the morning. “Sleep is our David.”

Patterson’s smile widens. “You know your biblical references.”

She closes her eyes again and sinks back into the warmth trapped beneath the sheets, into the indentation her body has made in the pillow and mattress, into—“Zapata?”

“Yeah?”

“Were you serious last night when you said we’d take a break together?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes squeeze open when she feels Patterson move against her, moving as close as she did last night. And then closer. There is a very light-colored dusting of freckles beneath her eyes, Tasha has never noticed that before. And the blue of her eyes is so clear and icy, but holding so much warmth.

And fear. She knows what fear looks like.

Their noses touch. And then their foreheads do too. And—Patterson stops. There is a slight tremble to her body that Tasha feels vibrate through her own, and a harsh intake of breath when Tasha moves her hand up her arm.

A hand that is used to holding guns or folding into a punch, that has done nothing more than bring pain recently—it cups around Patterson’s cheek gently, soaks in the warmth and softness and shape of it. This is what it was made for. Not violence. Love.

“Can I?” she asks, and Patterson answers, “Yes.” And so, Tasha shifts, aligns their mouths, and kisses her. The soft pressure is enough to make everything inside her burst apart, releasing a jittery, fluttering energy. Her hand tightens its hold. Her lips move with more certainty, while Patterson’s part to sigh. One kiss, two, a few short pecks, and another long one before they finally draw to a stop.

They’re both trembling now.

“I’m still…” Patterson inhales a shaky breath. “Dealing with all that Borden did.”

“Of course.”

“But I don’t regret that, Zapata.”

“Yeah, you’re not a bad kisser either, Patterson.”

Her stomach is alive with butterflies and her lips retain the memory of being kissed vividly all day, but Tasha follows Patterson’s lead in leaving everything unspoken for now, as they nurse their hangovers with coffee and Advil and water, as they sit through a debrief of everything that has gone down, as they sit in Weller’s office together and ask for their leave of absence together.

They have the next two weeks to talk about it—or not talk about it. Patterson’s well-being comes first now, and always, and Tasha knows she will wait. She would wait forever.

Patterson is worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
